Codename: Lestrade
by MizJoely
Summary: It started out as an unexpected night of shared intimacy, and quickly turned into something more. Something none of them had expected. And all because of a couple bottles of wine and Sherlock Holmes being a git. Life could be funny that way.
1. Geoff

_A/N: Blame asteraceaeblue for this one, folks. Pure PWP, smut, dirty talk, sex, sex, and more sex. M/M/F Sherlollystrade._

* * *

It started out as an unexpected night of shared intimacy, and quickly turned into something more. Something none of them had expected. And all because of a couple bottles of wine and Sherlock Holmes being a git. Life could be funny that way.

The case had turned out to be an eight after all. And with John off with his latest girlfriend, Sherlock had roped Molly into assisting. They'd successfully captured the murderer with Lestrade's assistance (although none of the other NSY idiots had been of any use whatsoever), and had somehow ended up back at Baker Street, just the three of them and a couple of bottles of very expensive wine that had been pressed on them by the grateful victim's daughter. Sherlock had cracked one open during the cab ride home; the three of them had managed to finish it off by the time they arrived, and instead of heading back to their own flats, Molly and Lestrade accepted Sherlock's (entirely surprising and unexpected) invitation to try one of the other wines they'd been gifted with.

Mrs. Hudson was already asleep when they stumbled up the stairs to 221B, no doubt aided along by her 'herbal soothers', which was just as well since they were all three giggling like idiots the entire time. "Shhh!" Sherlock had said when they were half-way up the stairs, attempting – and failing – to pin them with his trademark imperious stare. Since he was having trouble focusing, said stare was more like random attempts at eye contact, which struck both Molly and Lestrade as terribly funny and only set them off more.

Once inside the flat Lestrade shut the door and, without even thinking about it, locked it. Molly shucked her coat and settled onto the sofa, taking the middle seat while Sherlock bustled – there was really no other word for it – into the kitchen and rooted about in the cabinets looking for wine glasses. The three he brought into the sitting room were mismatched, two of them clearly marked with the names of high-end restaurants, but more than adequate to the task of being filled (sloppily) with more wine. "Should take you in for theft," Lestrade said in fake admonishment as he raised his glass and peered at the name. "Nicked this from that swanky place near Bin Beg…Bing Ben…the great stupid bloody clock-thing!" he finished with a scowl.

"Pffft," Sherlock said with a dismissive wave of his hand as he plopped heavily onto the sofa next to Molly. He draped one arm across the back of the sofa while she giggled and tried not to slop her overfilled glass as she bounced a bit. "Never mish em, got too many and b'sides, potatoes were over-salted. Amateurs, don't know their chemishtry from their arseholes."

That struck both Molly and Lestrade as incredibly funny, even funnier than his attempts at staring them down on the staircase, and they both fell into another fit of the giggles, at the end of which Lestrade somehow found himself seated on Molly's other side. His arm, too, was stretched across the back of the sofa, his hand resting over Sherlock's although neither of them paid the contact any mind. Indeed, both men were busy ogling Molly's suddenly revealed cleavage, as she carelessly unbuttoned the top three – no, four – buttons of her frilly red blouse and fanned herself. "Whew, s'abit hot, innit?" she asked, glancing from one to the other innocently. It was obvious to Lestrade that her intent wasn't calculated or even meant as any sort of seduction, but who knew what Sherlock was thinking?

Lestrade tore his eyes away from her chest to glance at Sherlock in anticipation of hearing some cutting remark; after all, the last time Molly had been in his flat at Christmas, the consulting detective had been particularly cruel to her, had made some rather pointed comments about her tits that Lestrade thought had been entirely unnecessary. "They're not small," he blurted out. Both Molly and Sherlock stared at him in confusion; his wine-addled mind urged him to try to explain and so he bumbled on. "Your tits, Molly, not too small. No compenshashun… compestashun…they're not too small, don' ever let this idiot ever tell you that." He nodded to emphasize that he meant Sherlock, reaching up in an attempt to point accusingly at the other man…but instead, somehow his hand ended up squeezing one of Molly's not-too-small tits as if it felt the need to reassure her, to make it clear since the detective inspector's mouth was clearly failing at the job.

Sherlock's eyes had narrowed at the sight, and he turned his glare on Lestrade. "Hands off, Geoff," he snapped. "No touchy my pashologisht. Pathologist," he corrected himself with a great deal of emphasis on each syllable.

"It's Greg," Lestrade corrected him, his hand still on Molly's tit. And squeezing it a bit, come to think of it. Hmm. But she hadn't told him hands off, so Sherlock could just suck it.

His eyes widened a bit at the mental image that thought brought to mind; what the fuck was wrong with him? Before he could do or say anything else, he was distracted by the sight of Sherlock's hand on Molly's other tit, thumb brushing over the nipple. "That's what I said, Geoff."

"Sherlock, you're drunk," Molly declared as she detected a bit of a tiff brewing between the two men. The two lovely, lovely men with their lovely, lovely hands on her breasts, mmmmm…

The drunken consulting detective thrust his face closer to hers. "And you're sexy, Molly. You and Geoff…"

"Greg!"

"You an' Greg, both ver' sexy. We should be sexy together, jush the three of us. John's off getting sexy with that new girlfriend of his, why should he have all the sex?" He was pouting, his lower lip looking far too delicious to ignore, and Lestrade let out a gasp as Molly leaned forward and sucked it into her mouth.

Sherlock froze, not moving at all, and Lestrade wondered what he'd do next. He didn't have long to wait; the hand on Molly's tit convulsed a bit, squeezing and rubbing (as, Lestrade suddenly realized, his own had been doing the entire time to the other breast) and then the lip Molly was sucking on was no longer the only one in contact with her mouth. At the same time they commenced a desperate, sloppy and oh-so-sexy snogging session, Sherlock twisted his hand from beneath Lestrade's where it rested on the back of the sofa, grabbing the other man's wrist and hauling him closer.

Things were a bit of a blur after that; clothes seemed to come off without anyone consciously deciding to strip, urgent, sloppy kisses were exchanged between the three of them, and then suddenly Lestrade found himself lying on the sofa with Sherlock kneeling between his legs. Not only kneeling there, but sucking his cock with a great deal of enthusiasm. "Fuck!" the older man gasped out as soon as he felt those perfect lips connecting with his knob. He hadn't been with another man since long before he joined NSY, but felt not even a second's uneasiness at what was happening. Especially since his own mouth was busy sucking and licking Molly's sweet little pussy while she rode his face and made some absolutely smashing noises while he did so.

She was a moaner rather than a screamer, as he discovered a few minutes later when she orgasmed; he could taste the difference as she pressed her cunt down against his mouth and writhed above him, bracing herself on the arm of the sofa. He kept on lapping eagerly at her until she finally lifted herself away from his mouth, gasping and shaking, and made as if to stand up.

Oh no, none of that! Lestrade grabbed her and pulled her down on top of him, kissing her hard and making sure to use a great deal of tongue. Which, coincidentally, was what Sherlock was doing to his cock; if the clever bastard didn't stop, he was going to find himself with a mouth full of cum. But when the older man tried to warn him – breaking off his kisses with Molly reluctantly in order to have the breath to speak – Sherlock just raised his head and gave him a devastatingly sinful smile and said, "Mmm, can't wait to taste you, and of course, Molly. Although I'll most likely just taste her on your lips while I fuck her, you won't mind that, will you? Either of you? No? Good!"

Later, when his head was no longer fuzzed by wine or short-circuiting with pleasure, Lestrade would realize that Sherlock had been perfectly coherent, showing no signs of his previous drunkenness. And when he confronted the younger man about it, Sherlock merely shrugged and smiled, saying, "Isn't it obvious, Greg? You can thank John for reminding me that I'm human; his friendship opened my eyes to other possibilities, other ways of connecting with the people I care about." Then he pulled Lestrade in for a kiss, and no other questions were asked.

But that was in the future. Right now Lestrade was bucking his hips and swearing in between kisses with Molly; he was reaching down with one hand and groping for Sherlock's head, wanting to feel those sweat-dampened curls in his fingers when he came. And when he finally did, it was with a roar loud enough to wake the dead while Molly held him close and pressed soft kisses to his neck.

Less than a minute later Lestrade was watching while Sherlock seated himself on the coffee table with Molly on his lap so they both faced him. Sherlock had simply swept aside the piles of papers and newspapers, leaving it to Molly to rescue the wine glasses – thankfully all empty – and set them on the floor. She leaned over to do so, making both men groan for roughly the same reasons. Lestrade could see Sherlock's hands tightening on her hips as she wiggled them teasingly, the tip of his cock jutting up over her arse, and in spite of the ferocious orgasm he'd just experienced he felt his cock give a little jump at the sight.

He watched avidly as Sherlock urged Molly back up, lifting her so that her pussy – gleaming wetly in the subdued lighting – rested against the head of his (mmm, lovely, thick and heavy) cock. She reached down between her legs and grasped it in one hand, guiding herself onto his shaft, sinking down slowly with a blissful expression on her face, brown eyes screwed shut, mouth open, her hands reaching back to grasp tightly to Sherlock's upper arms. His hands remained on her hips, lifting and lowering her as groans and growls escaped his lips. His eyes snapped shut as soon as she was fully seated, and Lestrade couldn't stand it a second longer; he forced himself to his feet, tottering over the few steps so he could lean down and kiss Sherlock. Not just because he wanted to (which he so very desperately did!), but also so Sherlock could taste Molly – and, if he were being honest, so Lestrade could rather guiltily taste himself on the other man's lips and tongue as well.

Speaking of tongues…he broke from the kiss and looked down at Molly, who was currently licking his chest and abdomen, making her way determinedly southward, her hands now on his hips. He was many years separated from his twenties and his stamina wasn't even close to what it used to be…but somehow, tonight, in spite of his age and the wine, when Molly's mouth closed around his cock, he felt it responding gloriously, slowly hardening as she worked it with lips and tongue.

He stumbled back onto the sofa; with a smirk, Sherlock angled her so that she could easily rest her forearms on Lestrade's thighs and once again take his thickening length into her mouth. Even more astonishing to him, when Molly started moaning and Sherlock's thrusts grew hard and erratic, the three of them somehow managed to unheard of miracle of all coming at roughly the same moment. "Fuck!" he exclaimed, unable to say anything more coherent even though his mind was dancing with delight.

That night, not only was a new relationship born – one they would keep entirely to themselves until many years later, when John Watson accidentally found them out – but also a new game between the three of them, a teasing code that Sherlock (of course, the git) took the most advantage of (and had the most fun with): in future, whenever Sherlock called him 'Geoff', Lestrade knew it was code for "Meet us at Baker Street, bring wine."


	2. Gavin

_Chapter 2, loads more three-way hotness. Enjoy!_

* * *

"Really, can't you figure it out? It took me all of ten seconds after Molly pulled the sheet off Mr. Hart, here."

Molly gave a giggle, then turned it into a cough and looked apologetic when John and Lestrade both turned to look at her. "Sorry! It's just…his name. Mr. Hart? And he died of heart failure."

"Only after his sister injected him with a very potent…"

Sherlock glared and went silent as John's mobile rang, interrupting him mid-deduction. "Sorry," John apologized as he fished it out of his trouser pocket and glanced at the screen. "It's Mary. Hi Mary, everything OK?" He listened for a few minutes, murmured something soothing, then rang off and turned back to the others with an apologetic grimace. "Sorry again, but I've got a bit of a domestic emergency…it's Lanie, she's run out of nappies somehow. I'll just meet you where, then?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Didn't you just hear me, John? The case is solved, it was barely a three when Gavin…"

"Greg," the DI corrected him with an eye-roll of his own as he began rapidly texting on his own mobile.

"When _Greg_ here claimed it was a five," he continued in a waspish tone. As if Lestrade was the one at fault for having such a boring name. "Go finish up your domestic chores, we're done for the night."

John bristled a bit but accepted Sherlock's dismissal and hurried out after saying his good-byes to the other two.

As soon as he was gone, Molly turned to the others with a bright smile, full of both excitement and mischief. "Coffee before you leave? I'll just…" she motioned toward the doors through which John had just exited.

Sherlock shrugged, eyes on his mobile which he'd just pulled out, so Greg was the one to return her smile – more of an anticipatory smirk – and nod. "Yeah, sounds great, see you in a bit."

Two minutes after she'd exited Greg glanced down as his mobile pinged. He cleared his throat and said, "Great, they got her trying to bin the evidence in a neighbor's yard. Guess I should be there for the, um, questioning. Yeah, right then." With an awkward laugh he was out the door. Sherlock looked up a minute later, blinked as if he was just now realizing he was alone, scowled, and strode through the doors, leaving the morgue entirely empty.

If John Watson knew what a charade he'd just missed (for the benefit of the CCTV cameras), or (more importantly) why it had been enacted in the first place, he'd probably have wanted to bleach his brain.

Or else settled back with some popcorn to watch.

 **oOo**

Molly was already half-undressed by the time Sherlock tapped on the storage cupboard door. In case it was someone else (unlikely in the extreme but better safe than sorry), Greg made sure he was shielding her as the door opened. He stepped aside as the third member of their little trio slipped into the small – but ample for their needs – space. "John's definitely gone, then?" he asked as Sherlock closed and locked the door.

"Yup." Sherlock popped the p in that obnoxious manner of his, while Molly giggled and ogled the two men as they stripped down. Sometimes they didn't bother – enjoying one another while half-clad could be an incredible turn-on, especially when doing so at work – but tonight was Greg's birthday, and even if Sherlock had opted for an unconventional location for the first part of their celebration, neither of his two lovers gave a fuck.

Sherlock, as usual, was the first one naked, even with Molly's head start; she was too busy fondling Greg's lovely bum to bother with removing the rest of her clothes. She'd shucked her lab coat, jumper, and shoes; while Greg kissed her and slipped out of his trousers, Sherlock pushed between them impatiently, shoving the older man aside in order to take over the kissing-Molly duties. "Oi, watch it!" Greg said good-naturedly, appreciating the view of his male lover's naked backside as he snogged their girlfriend. Her giggles swiftly turned to moans, and within moments she was as naked as the other two, the three of them trading kisses and caresses as they writhed together.

Molly quickly found herself sandwiched between her two men, one of her very favorite places to be. Greg was holding her close, kissing her hard and running his hands over her backside – and as much of Sherlock as he could reach – while Sherlock pressed against her, his long, dexterous fingers on her breasts, his mouth on her neck. She moaned and sighed and wiggled, loving the feel of both men's erections against her sweat-slicked body, Greg's lovely lean hardness on her pussy and belly, Sherlock's long, thick cock rubbing at the cleft of her ass.

One of his hands moved up, from her breasts to her clavicle to her throat, soft, caressing motions that paused only when his fingers slipped between her and Greg's lips. She slipped two of the long, clever digits into her mouth and sucked eagerly at them while Greg moved to lay a series of sloppy kisses to her shoulder.

"Mmm, evidence would suggest that Molly would very much like to suck your cock," Sherlock said, his voice a throaty growl that made both partners shiver with want. "If I were you, Greg, I'd lean back against the wall there, give our girl a little room." He moved his hand to her hair, twisting it deftly around his wrist, and Molly willingly allowed him to guide her down to her knees. She landed on a soft padding made up of his Belstaff and Greg's raincoat – no accident, Sherlock was meticulous about these sorts of things! – and eagerly grasped Greg's thighs, plunging her mouth directly onto his cock.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed, the way he always did when one of them wrapped their lips around his knob. Further speech, if any, was abruptly cut off by Sherlock's mouth landing on his, their tongues twining in a leisurely dance while Molly continued to bob her head on Greg's straining cock. He twitched his hips and she rubbed his thighs, the agreed-upon signal that it was all right for him to fuck her mouth as hard as he liked.

Sherlock kept Molly's hair tightly wound around his wrist, his other hand gliding down Greg's side, to his hips, ending just below Molly's chin to cup his bollocks. Greg jerked his head away, letting out another heart-felt, "Fuck!" at the sensation. God he loved it when they did this to him, making him the focus; his wife had never done it, not once during their entire contentious marriage. It had always been about her; what _she_ wanted, what _she_ needed, never about him. Sherlock of course had deduced that about him shortly after they began their relationship, while Molly had never needed to be told. She was the most selfless, giving woman he'd ever known, which was why both men practically fell over one another to see make sure she received the maximum pleasure they could give her.

Even now, with her mouth on his cock and himself the center of attention, being kissed (very, very thoroughly) by Sherlock, Greg found himself fretting over her; was he being too rough? Then she squeezed his thighs again, opened up her throat to take him in deeper, and he remembered (how could he have forgotten even for a moment?) that sweet, selfless little Molly Hooper was an absolute beast in the bedroom (or wherever). He never would have guessed that she liked it a little rough. More than a little rough sometimes, which was just fine with both men. Oh, she wasn't into humiliation or pain, nothing like that, but lord the woman could take whatever he and Sherlock could dish out!

As he moaned and gasped, Sherlock nipped at his throat, darting his face up now and again to plant another sloppy, greedy kiss on his lips, which Greg returned just as greedily. If you'd asked him six years ago, he'd have scoffed at the idea that one day he and a certain sullen junkie with a genius for deducing crime would be not only involved in a very satisfying sexual relationship, but that the woman they both had fallen in love with would love them both back.

Or, he thought dimly as he felt his climax building, that the three of them would be able to overcome so many personal obstacles to find their way into one another's arms: his ever-failing marriage, Sherlock's on-and-off drug use and emotional isolation, Molly's social awkwardness and tendency to shrink into the background…all finally overcome one very memorable Christmas.

The memory of that particular evening was enough to send him over the edge and gasping out his climax. Sherlock kissed him hard, and he could feel Molly sucking down his cum, making greedy, obscene slurping noises that only made him climax even harder.

He slumped down to his knees, watching as Sherlock laid Molly down and began working her pussy with his mouth and fingers, eagerly working her into a moaning, writhing frenzy. Under other circumstances he'd join them, spent dick or not, but with the time constraints and in the confined space of the storage cupboard (and the sure knowledge that later on, back at Baker Street, the three of them were going to continue this little _ménage à trois_ ), he was content to watch, reaching out to fondle Sherlock's taut arse as he knelt over Molly. Mmm, oh the plans he had for that bum later on tonight! He slid his finger against Sherlock's hole, feeling the other man buck and squirm a bit, but refrained from slipping it inside. Tonight, though… Molly's moans were increasing in volume, until she reached up to muffle them against her forearm. She came quickly after that, her fingers clamped so tightly to Sherlock's dark curls that Greg was convinced she'd tug out a chunk of it. But no; no bald spot appeared on their lover's head as he raised it and smirked over his shoulder, wiggling his arse as if to remind Greg of what they would be doing later on. Greg smirked back at him and gave one butt cheek a solid slap, nodding at Molly as he said, "Come on, Sherlock, Molly's waiting for you, you know how much she loves being fucked after you've made her come." "Yeah, Molly does love that," the woman in question agreed, her eyes still closed and a trickle of sweat on her forehead. "You heard the Detective Inspector, Sherlock; get on with it!" The bit of snap to her voice was all Sherlock needed to hear, since he immediately slid up her body, pausing only to suckle at her lovely little tits before taking himself in hand and pressing into her, a few centimeters at a time as usual. Lord, the man was well hung, something you wouldn't expect from just looking at his fully-clothed form, and something both Molly and Greg appreciated. Before they fully started, Sherlock pulled them away from the wall, allowing Greg to slip in behind her, cradling her soft, pliant form between his body and Sherlock's. Sherlock lifted her right leg, carefully grasping her thigh as he steadily worked his way into her pussy; she steadied herself with her hands on his upper arms, leaning her head back to rest on Greg's shoulder as he held onto her buttocks. She lifted herself onto her toes and he gave her as much support as he could; she loved standing sex, but Sherlock was so tall compared to her petite form that it took a bit of work. Loads of times she'd have both legs wrapped around his waist but past experience had taught them that the noise they made wasn't worth the pleasure of that particular position unless they were safely ensconced in one of their three flats. As he watched and felt his two loves moving together, he thought again about why, even after several years as romantic partners, none of them had moved in with the others. Obviously the secrecy thing was part of it, but he suspected it would be just as easy to keep their relationship hush-hush if they openly announced that they'd decided to flat-share. The problem with that was that Sherlock's flat only had two bedrooms, and moving him out of there would be an impossible task. And if he and Molly pretended to be a couple without him – no. Entirely too unfair; Sherlock would never stop pouting over it, Greg thought fondly as he leaned forward and kissed the other man. Soon enough Molly was orgasming, shuddering and sweating as the sounds of their joined bodies grew in intensity. Sherlock was pistoning his hips, moving faster and faster, his forehead resting against Molly's as he chased his own completion. Then he came with a strangled gasp, stilling himself as soon as he finished, pulling away to reach blindly for the pile of towels conveniently to hand on the nearest shelf. They cleaned up and kissed each other goodbye, Sherlock and Greg slipping away in opposite directions after Molly had returned to the morgue. As soon as her shift officially ended, she would join them at Greg's flat, where they'd agreed to meet for a dinner of take-away and wine, and soon enough find their way to his bedroom. Yes, it was an unconventional life they'd take up, but he wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. And the fact that their trysts were all based around whatever fake name Sherlock had chosen to gift him with? Icing on the proverbial cake, Greg thought with a contented sigh as he made his way up the stairs to the main floor of the hospital. 'Gavin' being code for 'meet us in the storage cupboard' was definitely one of his favorites.


	3. Grant

Molly sighed as she heard Sherlock and Greg squabbling just outside the doors of her office. She stood up, crossed the small room, opened the door, and saw just what she expected: Sherlock looking down his nose at Greg, Greg getting a bit red-faced and scowling, and John Watson standing off to the side, pinching the bridge of his nose with the fingers of one hand and shaking his head. "You do know this is a hospital, right?" she demanded waspishly, neither knowing nor caring who was on the right side of this particular argument.

"And since we're the only living humans on this particular floor, I fail to see the point of that question," Sherlock snapped back, barely glancing at her. "Just as you fail to see the point, Grant, no matter how many times I repeat myself: it's _not_ the daughter. Those black threads prove it."

"Listen, I don't care who it _isn't_ , Sherlock, I bloody well want to know who it actually _is_!"

Molly had pretty much stopped paying attention as soon as she heard Sherlock call Greg 'Grant'; ooh, lovely, it had been a while since she'd had both her boys inside her at the same time. Well, mouth and cunt, yes, but cunt and ass…it had been at least a month, possibly longer. She bit back a grin, hoping her cheeks weren't as red as they felt, but knowing that John would most likely interpret it as annoyance. She felt a bit bad sometimes, keeping her relationship with Sherlock and Greg a secret, but it was what the three of them had agreed to from the beginning – partly for her protection, since it was best that no one understand how much she meant to Sherlock, but mostly for Greg's sake; if his ex-wife got so much as a sniff of him being in such an unconventional relationship (even though she'd known he was bi-sexual when she married him!) she'd use it against him, keep him from seeing his kids or extort more maintenance money from him.

Not worth it; neither she nor Sherlock wanted to disrupt the man's life just for the sake of being 'out' about their relationship. And that meant no one – not even John Watson, Sherlock's best friend and former flat-mate – could know.

Except, Molly thought guiltily as Sherlock and Greg resumed their bickering – with John attempting to play peacemaker, bless him – of course there was one other person who knew. Or rather, who Molly suspected of knowing. She really needed to broach it with her two lovers, but obviously now wasn't the time. Later, she decided as John finally succeeded in getting Sherlock to shut up – oh, he was in a sulk now, poor baby – she would bring it up.

Heh. Speaking of bringing things up, she could hardly wait for the end of her shift. Off she'd pop to her flat, grab a quick bite to eat along the way, and as soon as she was indoors, get herself ready for tonight's activities. She'd meet the boys at 221B, anal plug in place, nicely stretched out and lubed and ready for them. "Do let me know if you actually need me for anything," she said loudly. Sherlock ignored her, Greg and John both gave her apologetic looks, and she slipped back into her office, leaning against the closed door with a contented sigh.

Poor Greg, never getting to hear his name come properly from Sherlock's lips when John was around, she thought fondly. Still, what had started off as a joke had evolved into an elaborate yet simple way for Sherlock to let his two lovers know what he was keen for when they got together. The acceptance codes were just as simple: if Greg corrected Sherlock by calling him a twat, then the answer was no, and if Molly wasn't up for it she was to tell Sherlock to stop being horrible. Sherlock would then go to plan B, but it was a rare occasion when he couldn't deduce what Molly and Greg were interested in doing with – and to – him.

The voices in the hall died down and disappeared, and Molly grinned as she went back to her desk, shaking her head a bit. All that just because Mr. Impatient couldn't wait until there was a reason for the three of them to be in the same place at the same time. Honestly, he was such a five-year-old at times…mmm, well, not physically, that was for sure!

She forced herself to concentrate on work, difficult though that was after Sherlock's little performance in the hall. Oh, he was so cheeky, but she loved him for it. As much as she loved Greg, which was still an overwhelming thought at times: how had she got so lucky to have two such wonderful men in her life?

Lord, she could hardly wait for her shift to end.

 **oOo**

Molly arrived at 221B promptly at seven, cooler in hand to use as an excuse. To be fair, there actually _was_ a diseased liver-and-kidney set inside it for Sherlock to experiment on at some future point. Just not tonight. As she pressed the buzzer and waited for either Sherlock or Mrs. Hudson to let her in, Molly found herself selfishly hoping that tonight wouldn't be one of the ones where John was inclined to linger before heading home to his wife and daughter. She shifted a bit, feeling the sensation of the metal plug, nearly trembling at the thought of it being replaced with Greg's lovely cock. She wanted to take Sherlock that way someday, but the man was just so big!

Her rather naughty thoughts were interrupted by Mrs. Hudson opening the door, and she returned the older woman's beaming smile with one of her own. "Molly! How nice to see you!" The smile dimmed somewhat as she took in the sight of the cooler she was holding on one hand. "Oh, dear, did you really have to bring that with you?"

Molly gave an awkward laugh as she entered the front hall. "Um, what do you mean? Of course I did, it's the reason I'm stopping by, Sherlock asked for…"

Mrs. Hudson tutted and shook her head as she shut the door. "Oh Molly, love, no need to lie to me. Don't think I don't know what the two of you get up to with that nice Detective Inspector Lestrade!"

Drat, Molly's suspicions were confirmed. "Mrs. Hudson, um, please don't say anything to anyone? Not that we're embarrassed or anything, it's just…"

Sherlock's landlady raised one hand and shook her head. "Say no more, my dear. Society still has such outdated views on polyamory, doesn't it?" She tutted. "Such a shame, too, because it can be such fun!" Then she winked and Molly felt her cheeks heating up in a furious blush as Mrs. Hudson patted her arm. "Up you go then, enjoy your two young men my dear! Oh!"

Molly stopped at the foot of the stairs and turned back to the other woman with an inquisitive gaze. "Just be sure to remind them that it's all right to use both the front and back doors, as long as they remember to oil the hinges first!"

With that unexpectedly saucy bit of advice, Mrs. Hudson winked and headed back into her flat. Molly shook her head and finally managed to make her way up the stairs, making a mental note to let Greg and Sherlock know that the cat was out of the bag as far as the landlady was concerned.

Then she grinned and bit back a giggle, picturing each man's reaction to Mrs. Hudson's words.

She set the cooler down on the kitchen table, glanced at that piece of furniture, changed her mind and placed it on the counter instead. Then she hurried into Sherlock's bedroom as her mobile pinged. It was Greg, saying he'd be a bit late and not to start without him. She pouted but texted back her understanding, but adding: _No promises on not starting without you; you snooze, you lose_. Some devil made her follow up the text with a shot of her naked breasts after she undressed herself, plopping on the bed and giggling like a teenager as she hit 'send'.

She received a one-word text in response: _Tease_. That only made her giggle harder as she rolled onto her stomach, leaning up on her elbows, one leg flat and the other raised up as she to send Greg another picture. She was making just enough noise not to notice how Sherlock had snuck into the room behind her.

She did notice, however, as soon as his lanky – and completely naked – form covered hers, his mouth landing on her neck as she squealed and dropped her mobile. He rutted against her, mumbling adoring words against her skin in between nips and kisses while Molly giggled and squirmed in a mock attempt to move him off her.

Greg found them still lying on the bed a half-hour later when he finally made his escape from NSY, but with Sherlock's head buried between Molly's legs and her hands wrapped tightly in his dark curls. She gasped out a greeting as Greg stood in the doorway, admiring the sight of them before hurriedly removing his clothes and stretching out on the bed next to Molly. He kissed her deeply, worming one hand beneath her shoulders and reaching down to stroke and tweak her nipples with the other. Sherlock murmured something incoherent as she bucked her hips, but made no move to remove his face from her cunt. Instead he shifted her legs so her calves rested over his shoulders, noisily continuing to feast on her abundant juices.

With so much attention being lavished on her, it was no surprise when Molly's body stiffened and shook, a series of guttural moans leaving her throat as she came. She went limp as Sherlock sat back on his heels, looking decidedly pleased with himself as he gazed down at her, then smirked at Greg. "Care for a taste, 'Grant'?"

"Don't mind if I do," Greg replied, easing his body away from Molly's. She simply murmured and sighed, eyes tightly closed as he knelt up and cupped one hand behind Sherlock's head, drawing him close for a leisurely kiss. Both men wound up with Molly's juices liberally smeared across the lower halves of their faces, and both apparently had the same idea at the same time: sandwiching her between them, they took turns suckling her breasts, making sure to transfer as much of the sticky wetness from their bodies to hers as they could. They kissed again as she moaned and reached around to run her hands down their backs, then returned to kissing her as her eyes finally fluttered open.

"Don't stop on my account," she said with a cheeky grin, reaching up to push their faces closer together. "You boys know I love watching you kiss."

"And you'll love it even more when we do it while we're both fucking you at the same time," Sherlock said, his answering grin slow and wicked. He reached down and ran his fingers over the anal plug, twisting it a bit and pulling a gasp of pleasure from her lips.

"Oh yes, please," she said as Greg's fingers drifted down to her pussy, the tips just brushing her slit. "God, can we…I don't want to wait, please!"

Sherlock sat up and tutted at her as if she were a child begging for a biscuit before dinner. "Now, Molly, it's hardly fair to Greg; you've already had two orgasms and he's only just got here. Surely he deserves a reward for being so dedicated to his job, hmm?"

Greg's cock twitched at the smouldering gaze Sherlock laid on him at the end of his little speech, and he rolled from his side to his back, his hands resting behind his head. Sherlock lifted Molly to a sitting position, giving her bottom a sharp smack as he ordered her onto her knees. He was quite the dominant one in their little threesome, and both Molly and Greg loved it even if they hadn't yet come up with a codename for if they ever decided to try some light BDSM. Judging by the glazed look in Molly's eyes as Sherlock reached around and pinched her nipples between two long, talented fingers – and the firm grip he had on her hair as she lowered her head until her lips were just hovering over Greg's prick – that day wouldn't be too far in the future.

The Molly's mouth closed over his prick, her tongue lapping at the pre-cum gathering in his slit, and he was brought entirely back into the moment. He forced his eyes to stay open, watching her lips and the occasional glimpse of her tongue as she worked him with her mouth; when she began humming, however, it was all he could do not to dig his own fingers into her hair. "Fuck!" he gasped, hips giving an involuntary twitch.

Molly pulled her mouth away for a moment, just long enough to give him a wicked grin, then dove back down. However, it wasn't long before she was the one gasping and crying out, replacing her mouth with one hand as Sherlock reached between her legs, those long, clever fingers of his immediately squirming into her, his thumb brushing over her slit as she wiggled and rocked against him. With his other hand he caressed her ass before slowly pulling the anal plug out. "Time to get someone ready for us, Greg," he said as he dropped the plug onto the floor and reached for a tube of lubricant. "Open wider, Molly, let's see if we can make you come again before we get down to business."

Molly obediently widened her legs, shuffling her knees apart as Sherlock continued to rub his thumb over her clit. She heard him use one thumb to pop open the lubricant and could hardly contain a groan of anticipation. Which, of course, Greg very much approved of, bucking his hips and thrashing his head a bit with his own moan escaping his lips. Soon Molly was unable to keep her mouth on his cock, resting her cheek on his hip and gasping and writhing as Sherlock's oh-so-talented fingers began probing both her forward and nether openings at the same time. She came within minutes, barely noticing when Greg eased himself out from under her – although she absolutely noticed when his mouth joined Sherlock's finger in teasing a secondary orgasm – or was it tertiary at this point? – from her well-lubricated pussy.

A few minutes after that, still happily basking in the afterglow, she found herself sprawled across Sherlock's lean form while Greg took up position behind her. His fingers had also replaced those of her consulting detective lover in working her open wide enough to accept his cock, and he was pressing soft kisses along the back of her neck as he leaned over her. "Just say when," he said, his voice low and gravelly with lust.

"Mm, yes, and don't be long, Molly, we're both ready for you and I know you're ready for us," Sherlock rumbled in agreement/complaint before pressing his mouth to the other side of Molly's neck.

"Nap first?" some devil prompted Molly to ask as she nestled more comfortably against Sherlock's body. She yelped as he pinched her bum, side-eyeing him as she raised that part of her anatomy up a bit. "Just a little joke," she grumbled, reaching between her legs to grasp his cock and line it up with her pussy.

"Don't tell jokes, Molly, it's really not your area," he quoted himself by way of a response, but the warmth of his eyes took any sting out of the words.

"Sherlock, don't be a tit to a woman who's letting you fuck her," Greg advised as he eased his fingers free of Molly's bum and started lubing up his cock. He smeared a generous glob of the cool gel over her smaller hole, lining himself up and leaning over her as he began to ease his way inside her.

Molly sighed happily as she felt the sensation of being filled by both her lovers at the same time – and as Mrs. Hudson had admonished, they'd done a damn good job of oiling the hinges before using both the front and back doors!

She tried not to giggle at the thought, but it proved impossible, and of course as soon as she did both Greg and Sherlock needed to know exactly what was so funny about their 'Grant' night! So instead of telling them in the aftermath, Molly found herself explaining that Mrs. Hudson knew about their going's on – and what she'd said. Sherlock scowled, Greg chuckled, and Molly offered an apologetic smile to both men. "Sorry, it just popped into my head," she said weakly as Sherlock continued to scowl – and even worse, stopped moving.

"No pouting, Sherlock, you knew she would find out sooner or later, the dear old things not nearly as oblivious as you like to think," Greg counseled as he thrust gently into Molly's arse. The feel of his cock against the other man's through the thin barrier of Molly's body seemed to break Sherlock out of his sudden bout of immobility; the scowl finally vanished, replaced by a darkly feral look as he dragged Molly down for a lingering kiss. He quickly regained his rhythm, and Molly happily allowed her two lovers to set the pace. After all, she'd already had about as many orgasms as one woman could handle in less than an hour!

That, however, turned out to be a miscalculation on her part, as Sherlock commenced whispering some very, very filthy suggestions in her ear, intermixed with continual references to his landlady that made Molly twitch in a combination of arousal and mortification. "Perhaps Mrs. Hudson could point us to the best place to buy a sex swing, hmm, Molly? What do you think, Greg? Since my landlady already knows about us, we could convert John's old bedroom into a little playroom for the three of us instead of just using it for storage. Think of the truly depraved things we could do to our little Molly in a soundproofed room!"

"God, Sherlock," Greg groaned as he increased the speed of his hips. He'd snaked one arm around Molly's waist to support her as he pounded into her. "You trying to kill me, mate? A sex swing? Why not break out the bloody riding crop and handcuffs while you're at it?"

The look that came into Sherlock's eyes was all Molly needed to achieve her next – and most ferocious – orgasm. She bit into his shoulder in order to avoid screaming his name, and felt both men coming not long afterwards, no doubt sped to their mutual climaxes by the clenching of her body around their cocks.

They lay tangled together afterwards, Molly snuggled on Sherlock's left, Greg on his right. Sherlock traced idle patterns on the sweaty flesh of their shoulders while Molly and Greg clasped hands across his midsection. "It's not a bad idea, though, is it?" he asked, glancing at each of them in turn. "A private room away from the main flat, just for us." His smile turned wicked as he added, "And don't think I haven't dreamed up a few scenarios where the riding crop and handcuffs would come into play. I think that particular code will be…Grayson."

Greg turned pink and Molly…Molly only bit her lip and gave a delicious shiver of anticipation.

Oh, she couldn't _wait_ for that codename to be used!


	4. Grayson

_Bring on the riding crop, time for some light BDSM!_

* * *

He'd done it. Sherlock had actually gone and done it, made up a sort of sex play-room out of John's old bedroom on 221's second floor. No swing - none of them were actually up for anything like that - but a double bed with a wrought-iron head- and footboard, perfect for attaching ropes or handcuffs to. A selection of riding crops lay on the dresser that had been shoved up against one wall, the drawers of which were filled with a selection of...very interesting...wearing apparel, most of which featured a great deal of soft, supple leather. There was also a large oak wardrobe which proved to contain more clothing, various lengths of soft rope...and a collection of handcuffs and what Greg assumed were blindfolds and gags hanging from hooks. The polished hardwood floor was covered in several places by thick, luxurious rugs and a pile of what looked liked authentic sheepskin was piled neatly under the window.

"Do you think she'll like it?" Sherlock asked, sounding almost anxious as he stood by the door.

In response Greg pulled the other man into his arms and kissed him as thoroughly as he knew how. "She'll love it," he panted after reluctantly breaking the kiss. "She'll abso-fucking-lutely love it. When you gonna show it to her, then?"

Sherlock grinned, one of his most dangerous, wolfish smiles, the kind that sent shivers of lust down Greg's spine. "No time like the present." He lifted his mobile to his ear. "Ah, John, is Molly there?" A pause. "No, I accidentally deleted her number. Tell her it's Grayson's fault."

John's voice, a tinny squawk, came over the speakerphone, and Greg bit back a grin. Sherlock loved to tease his friend like this, even if John didn't know he was being teased. " _Grayson, Sherlock? Really? I swear it's a game to you, you bloody well know the man's name!"_ His voice faded a bit as he called for Molly. " _It's Sherlock, the git says he accidentally deleted your number. Be sure to read him the riot act, yeah?"_

Soft laughter from Molly, then: " _Sherlock? Did you need something?"_

 _Cheeky thing, she knew_ exactly _what he needed from her,_ Greg thought with a fond grin.

"Experiment," Sherlock said tersely. "After you get that data to John, come by Baker Street. And bring a few extra petri dishes, I seem to have used all of mine. Tell John to drop off the data at the clinic, I'll pick it up from him there. Or from Mary, if he's feeling obstinate. Laters!" He rang off, looking extremely pleased with himself.

Before Greg could take him to task for using poor John Watson just to relay to Molly what tonight's activities would involve, he found himself pressed up against the wall with the consulting detective's tongue down his throat.

His dick immediately hardened, no queueing, no waiting, and he could feel Sherlock's equally hard length pressing up against him. The relationship he, Sherlock and Molly shared was one of equals with very little bickering or jealousy amongst them; if he and Sherlock indulged themselves when Molly wasn't present, she wouldn't be upset. However, if they christened the new playroom without her, Greg suspected that would be a different matter altogether.

Sherlock, it would appear, agreed with him; he pulled his mouth away from Greg's reluctantly, turning his head to murmur, "Shall we continue this downstairs?"

Much as Greg longed to say yes, he decided he'd better put on the brakes. "You called me 'Grayson'," he reminded the other man. "How about we save up all this energy for when Molly gets here? Give her a proper welcome?"

He grinned at the pout that immediately formed on Sherlock's lips. "None of that," Greg chided with mock-severity. "No biscuits till Mummy gets back, yeah?"

"Hmm, you think Molly would prefer to take the dominant role this evening, then?"

Greg went a bit cross-eyed at the mental image Sherlock's words conjured up: Molly wearing a leather bustier over black knickers, fishnet stockings and spiked heels, opera gloves and a pair of handcuffs dangling from one finger as she beckoned them forward with the riding crop she held in her other hand. "Um, maybe?" he offered when he was able to speak again.

Sherlock chuckled. "Well, I can see you'd enjoy that particular scenario, Greg, but we'll save it for another time. I have some very specific plans for the three of us." He allowed one hand to drift down Greg's chest and abdomen, coming to a stop directly above - but not touching - the other man's painfully stiff penis. "But, as you say, we need to conserve our energy." Stepping back, he briskly slapped his hands together. "Shall we go meet John at the clinic? Those test results should tell us whether your murderer is is the sister or the daughter."

All Greg could do was shake his head as he followed the younger man down the stairs. He shifted himself in his trousers before doing so, hoping his erection would ease up before he had to face Mrs. Hudson or anyone else. Even if the old dear knew what the three of them were up to, didn't mean he felt comfortable giving her direct evidence, as it were!

 _Laters..._

Molly stared at the room Sherlock had prepared for them, much as Greg had done only a few hours earlier. "Oh," she breathed out as she took in the details, her eyes lingering on the sheepskin, so soft and inviting, then moving over to the bed. Sherlock could tell her brain was conjuring up some absolutely _filthy_ visions of what he might have in store for the three of them this evening, and he wasted no time in showing just how interested he was in getting started. "Strip," he ordered her, making his voice as hard and commanding as he knew how. Without looking to see if she'd obeyed, he spun around and pointed at Greg. "You too."

When they were both naked, standing in front of him with matching expressions of half-uncertainty and half-anticipation on their faces, he calmly opened the wardrobe door and lifted out two pairs of handcuffs. Dangling the metal restraints from the tip of one finger, he turned back to the other two. "On the bed, Greg," he ordered. "And you, Molly, on your knees and stay there until I tell you to get back up again. Tell me your safeword, then stay quiet unless I tell you you can talk."

"Barium," she said obediently. After kneeling on the sheepskin as ordered, she watched with a great deal of anticipation as Sherlock cuffed Greg to the iron headboard. He'd wrapped strips of sheepskin, fluffy side inward, to Greg's wrists, and was murmuring inquiries as to comfort and fit and 'do-you-remember-your-safeword'. Receiving a firm nod from the other man (and a mumbled 'whiskey'), he grinned and bent to kiss him. There was nothing soft about that kiss, and Molly squirmed a bit as she heard Greg moaning, his legs shifting and his dick hardening.

She nibbled on her bottom lip as Sherlock gave Greg's neck some attention, sucking hard enough to leave a mark the DI would have to cover up at work on Monday. Just like Sherlock; he loved to mark the two of them even though this was supposed to be a secret relationship!

Sherlock took his time, stroking one hand down Greg's body, teasing his nipples with the tips of his fingers before working his way down to the other man's hips. He settled on the bed next to him so that their bodies were nearly - but not quite - touching, and Molly bit her bottom lip hard to keep from moaning at the erotic spectacle.

When he finished to his satisfaction, and just as Greg was starting to groan and strain against his bonds a little bit, Sherlock sat up and looked over at Molly. "Detective Inspector Lestrade and I had a bit of a disagreement earlier, Molly," he said in a leisurely drawl. Molly glanced over at Greg, who looked just as puzzled as she was. Sherlock hopped off the bed and strolled over to the dresser, running his fingers lightly over the assortment of riding crops lying neatly on its top. "He had the audacity to tell me I had to wait, when all I wanted to do was fuck him up against the nearest wall."

Oh God she was gonna come just from listening to him talk; Molly squirmed and rubbed her thighs together, only stopping when he pinned her with his gaze. "Therefore our dear 'Grayson' is going to have to be punished." He heaved a heavy (fake) sigh of regret and lifted one of the crops, holding it up with two hands and ostentatiously inspecting it. He frowned, shook his head, and laid it back down, then lifted another one.

Molly and Greg exchanged glances again, and she could see a bit of concern on his face as Sherlock whipped the crop around in the air a few times. She tried to reassure him with her eyes, since she was still forbidden to talk, and hoped Greg understood what she was trying to tell him.

When Sherlock turned back to the other man and began drawing the thin, flexible end known as the 'keeper' over his legs, Greg squirmed but made no protests. However, when Sherlock raised it up, he started to speak. The first syllables of his safeword were on his tongue when Sherlock turned abruptly away from him. "Molly," he said crisply. "Hands and knees, ass towards the bed. Since 'Grayson' here is into delayed gratification, I've decided to punish him by making him watch while I whip that delightful ass of yours until it's as pink as your tongue. Then I'm going to fuck you slowly, and maybe even eat you out until he's begging us to touch him."

"Fucking _hell_ ," Greg gasped as Sherlock brought the riding crop down on Molly ass. She'd turned onto her hands and knees, facing away from the bed, just as he'd ordered her to, and she hoped Greg was enjoying the view as much as she was enjoying the sensations of being cropped.

She and Sherlock had worked this out in advance, of course; he'd noted her positive reaction to rough sex and spanking and wanted to make sure she was up for something a bit more...what had been his word? Oh yes, 'creative'. Well, he certainly was living up to her expectations, and then some! She lowered her head and caught her lip between her teeth to hold back her whimper of pleasure. Greg was still muttering curses on the bed, but they were admiring rather than concerned and so she concentrated instead on the delicious feeling of warmth emanating from both her well-stimulated gluteus maximus and her pussy.

"Mm, nice and pink," he declared after he'd raised a good half dozen welts on the fleshiest part of her bottom. He knelt down behind her, dropping the crop to the floor, then leaned forward and began slowly licking every single red mark, making sure to angle them both so that Greg got a clear view of their activities.

Molly squirmed and pressed back against him, biting back on the deep moans she wanted so desperately to release. Sherlock moved his tongue lower, running it languorously over the tight rosebud of her ass. She very nearly came right then and there, but the hand that was resting on her hip squeezed warningly, and she lowered her head and panted, eyes clenched tightly shut as she concentrated very hard on neither making any other noises nor letting go of the delicious coiling tension growing in her body.

Sherlock pulled his mouth away. "Good girl," he purred approvingly. She felt the fingers of his free hand gliding slowly up her inner thigh until the tips of his fingers rested teasingly on the wet slit of her sex. He inserted first one, then two fingers deep inside Molly, who bucked against his hand involuntarily at the achingly slow movements.

"Jesus, Sherlock, you're fucking killing me here," Greg called out in a strangled voice.

Molly looked over her shoulder, tossing her hair out of the way impatiently. She heard them both suck in hissing breaths at the same time, but before she could do more than wet her lips, Sherlock had raised himself onto his knees, removed his fingers from her cunt, and pushed her legs further apart. Then he sank into her, balls deep and stretching her so beautifully she couldn't stop the keening wail that escaped her lips.

Sherlock was moving against her, hard and steady as she bucked back against him, loving the way his cock felt inside her. Greg was panting nearly as hard as they were; she could hear him, and when she stole another glance at him, she could see his hips moving restlessly, his cock straining toward the ceiling. She really wanted to taste him, but Sherlock had decreed this punishment and Greg was just going to have to wait until she'd been thoroughly shagged before being given any attention from his two lovers.

Sherlock paused in his movements just long enough to grab Molly's hair and wrap it around one hand, tugging her head back as he hunched over her. "Stop fretting over Lestrade and pay attention to me," he growled in her ear with a sharp thrust of his hips. "He'll get his turn soon enough. Understood?"

"Understood," she gasped out as he gave her hair another sharp tug.

"Good," he said, sliding one hand around her body and brushing the tips of his fingers against her clit. His movements became harder, sharper, and Molly could feel her orgasm building past the point of no return; with a mewling wail she came, shuddering and clenching around his cock, leaning down to pillow her head on her arms when she could no longer support herself.

Sherlock released his grip on her hair in favor of wrapping his free arm around her waist as he hunched over her, riding her ruthlessly through her orgasm. As she floated back from the haze of pleasure, she heard Greg alternately swearing and pleading for some release of his own while Sherlock merrily ignored him in favor of crooning some truly filthy suggestions in her ear about his plans for the other man.

As soon as Molly's breathing steadied, Sherlock kissed her shoulder and stopped moving, easing out of her in spite of her murmured protests. "Up to the bed," he ordered her as he jumped lightly to his feet, reaching down so she could take his hand. As soon as she was standing he pulled her close for a lingering kiss, once again wrapping her hair around one hand while sliding the other down her back to trace the marks the crop had left on her ass.

She wrapped her arms around his waist and ground against him, his erection hard and sticky from her juices. When she moved to take it in her hand, however, he grabbed her wrist and tugged her head back so he could look at her. "Now, now, Molly, don't be greedy. I have plans for that. Lie down next to Greg, but don't touch him."

She nodded her understanding, making herself comfortable on one side with her head on her hand. She watched avidly as Sherlock knelt over Greg's torso, still not touching him and setting off another frustrated fusillade of swears from the detective inspector's lips. "Such a filthy mouth," Sherlock purred as he slowly, deliberately grasped the top rail of the headboard in his hands. "Time for you to put it to better use, I think."

He slid his hips forward until his cock was hovering over the other man's face; Greg immediately opened his mouth and sucked the tip of it between his lips, moaning happily as he worked it deeper into his throat. Molly's breathing sharpened to panting gasps at the sight of her two lovers so closely connected, and her fingers strayed between her legs, slowly working her clit as she watched Greg sucking hard at Sherlock's cock; knowing that her juices were coating it and that Greg was tasting her as well as Sherlock was an incredible turn-on.

"Yeah, just like that," Sherlock groaned as he panted and threw his head back, eyes squeezed tightly shut. He pulled one hand away from the headboard and threaded his fingers through Greg's silvery hair. With that much stimulation, it wasn't long before he was coming, a strangled "ungghhh" escaping his lips as Greg swallowed down every salty drop.

When he'd finished, body still shuddering in the aftermath, Sherlock dropped bonelessly to the bed opposite Molly, raising up one hand weakly and saying, "Give him a good ride, Molly, I'd say he's earned it."

It was hardly the commanding voice he'd used on them earlier, but considering his utter satiation at the moment, Molly could hardly blame him for dropping character. With a grin, she knelt over Greg's thighs, sliding her hands up the firmly muscled flesh and grazing his balls with her thumbs. "Is Sherlock right, Greg? Is it time to end your punishment?"

"Molly Hooper, if you don't fuck me right now I will completely lose my mind," he declared hoarsely. "Stop being a tease and do what Sherlock said. Or so help me, as soon as I'm uncuffed I will turn you over my knee and turn your arse pinker than it already is."

"Promises, promises," was Molly's cheeky response. But she raised herself up, positioning herself over Greg's lovely cock, then sinking down on it with a groan of satisfaction that was echoed by the detective inspector. As soon as she was fully seated she leaned down and kissed him, making sure to swivel her hips a bit as she did so. She rested her hands on his chest, scraping her nails lightly through the wiry hairs and over his nipples, loving the way he moaned and bucked his hips in an attempt to get her moving faster.

She would have continued teasing and tormenting him for a bit longer if it wasn't for the sudden smack of a palm against her ass; she yelped and turned her head to glare at Sherlock. "I said to ride him, not just lie on top of him. Do I have to crop you again - or rather," he corrected himself with a gleam in his eyes, "do I have to threaten _not_ to crop you again?"

Ah, _there_ he was, the lovely, arrogant bastard who'd gone to such lengths to please his two lovers. Molly bit her lip and ducked her head in faux-submission, then obediently increased the pace of her movements, slamming down to meet Greg's upward thrusts. Lost in the haze of her impending orgasm, she barely noticed when Sherlock left the bed, only to return moments later and kneel near the headboard.

It wasn't until Greg's hands landed on her hips that she realized he'd been uncuffed; he surged up into a sitting position, hauling her tighter to his groin and wrapping his arms around her waist. His mouth was on her throat, sucking hard, marking her, and soon she felt Sherlock's mouth on the other side, giving her the same treatment. She cried out and began to come, then felt Greg's release pulsing deep inside her as he growled her name and let off a fusillade of curses.

"Tsk, such language," Sherlock said in mock disapproval. "You can be such a vulgarian, 'Grayson'." He smirked and pulled Molly off the other man, curling himself around her unprotesting form. She laid an arm over Greg's chest and he rested his hand atop hers.

"I'm not the vulgarian, you're the vulgarian, you _fuck_ ," he said cheerfully. Molly giggled while Sherlock merely looked confused; of course he wouldn't get the reference. Greg turned on his side, wiggling closer to the other two, leaning across Molly to kiss Sherlock, draping his arm so that it rested across both their bodies. "Now that," he said, "was fucking amazing."

"Which part?" Sherlock asked, pressing lazy kisses to the back of Molly's neck.

"All of it," she and Greg both answered at the same time.

"Mm, no big surprise there, that was the idea, after all," Sherlock murmured complacently. He'd tucked his head into the crook of Molly's neck; she could feel his breath against her back and smiled as she and Greg kissed. With Sherlock nearly asleep it took some doing to get the covers out from underneath them and up over them, but they were soon comfortably settled and ready to join him. Greg drifted into slumber shortly after, while Molly drowsed and thought contentedly about how much she loved them both, how perfect things were, how she'd never been happier.

And even if they didn't say it aloud, she knew the other two felt exactly the same way.


End file.
